Fic: Life on Earth - Part 7/? [SPN]
TITLE: "Life on Earth" - Part 7/?
AUTHOR: Nansense
RATING: This part NC-17 for graphic depictions of sex
PAIRINGS: Dean/Castiel, Dean/Lisa
SPOILERS: All of Season 5, and Season 6... kinda?
SUMMARY: With Lucifer dead, Sam in the ground and the world effectively saved, Dean has forsaken hunting and everyone associated with it to settle into a life of domestic bliss with Lisa and her son, Ben. The only ghosts left for Dean to lay to rest are his own, but they are plenteous indeed, and some of them don't go down without a fight.
DISCLAIMER: Supernatural and all associated content is, sadly, owned by others much more fortunate and creative than I. Up yours, Kripke.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so, weirdly: This is the first NC-17 scene that I've ever written. (I know, right?) For some reason none of my other writing has ever called for it; though not out of shame or for lack of imagination, I just never found myself working on something that couldn't get away with an R rating, at most (and really graphic sex scenes tend to make fellow writing group members uncomfortable: fact). So, in light of that, don't judge too hard... but hopefully I'll have found a reason to continue with the porniness, in future. :)
Life on Earth (Pt. 7/?) by Nansense
“My mission wasn’t to stop Lucifer,” Cas answers with a shake of the head. “It’s been the same from the beginning, to protect and guide you. That hasn’t changed simply because the danger is now less. As for taking this body… well.”
Seemingly having exhausted the parameters of language, Cas unfolds the supple length of his limbs and surges forward, coming over Dean like a wave and bearing him down onto the mattress. In his surprise, Dean goes down with nothing more than a noise caught between an ‘oof´ and a gasp. Castiel’s hands trap his wrists with little apparent effort and straddles Dean’s hips with a proud, unwavering sexiness that Dean wants to devour, be devoured by; his unsuppressed groan is rewarded with the lightest press of Castiel’s pelvis into his, just enough to send the blood shooting to his groin in a maddening instant. Fireworks, Dean can taste them at the back of his throat. He doesn’t care if this is all technically in his head-he can’t remember being so helplessly turned on since he hit puberty, feeling lightheaded with it.
“What about your body?” Dean gasps, because he can feel most of it already pressed down the length of his, as Castiel nuzzles a kiss at the very sensitive area along the base of his throat, noses his collarbones, and drags his mouth upwards in a slow, wet line.
He feels lips against the curve of his earlobe, a low chuckle that vibrates in all the right places. “I guess you could say it was part of my reward,” Cas says.
“Reward?”
“Mm.” Dean’s wrists are transferred to Castiel’s right hand, the grip more than enough to keep him still, while the left slides down Dean’s torso to sneak beneath the hem of his t-shirt. The scrape of fingernails against his hipbone and the soft ghost of breath in his ear make Dean curse and his cock give a painful twinge against the fly of his jeans. Castiel actually grins. Bastard that he is, he arches his back out of the way when Dean tries to thrust up into him, but digs in with his nails again just to see Dean’s reaction a second time. The look on his face has a touch of the mad scientist about it, carefully gauging each response, testing how much further he can push. Dean is all for experimenting, but not so much when it leaves him a mere feather’s touch away from creaming himself.
“Cas,” he hisses, warningly. Or desperately.
“Yes, Dean?”
“Unless this reward of yours is a free pass to drive me insane, I’d like to point out that this isn’t fair.” Cas, when he meets Dean’s eyes dead-on, manages to look smug even in spite of flushed skin and lust-dilated pupils. His expression, Dean notes, plainly reads, Oh? Dean wets his lips and enjoys how Cas lasers in on the movement. “If you’re the only one who’s allowed to touch anything, you should at least do it properly,” he rasps.
“I didn’t realize you had complaints,” Cas replies, and fuck Dean if he isn’t almost pouting at him, the full mouth forming a little moue of disappointment and challenge. They both know full well that Dean is a long way away from complaining. “If you’re suggesting that I let myself be guided, then…” He shrugs one shoulder gamely and looks down at Dean through his eyelashes. His hand, still resting lightly on Dean’s flesh, trails up his stomach and across his chest, to pluck one nipple to agonizing hardness. Dean’s moan comes out strangled, and Castiel bends to his mouth to catch it. Against Dean’s lips, he murmurs, “By all means.”
“Fuck,” Dean hisses, and then, “… okay.”
Cas gives a little appreciative hum before guiding Dean’s hands up to the top of the bed, strips him of his shirt before wrapping his fingers around the iron rungs of the headboard. “Leave them there,” he whispers, trailing his fingertips down Dean’s arm, raising goosebumps. “Just talk to me.”
Dean forces out a sharp exhalation through his nose, feeling the chill air skirting across his chest where sweat has already started to bead, savouring the unconscious, minute thrusting of his hips against Cas’s narrow ass. “I want to see you,” he says, with clarity that surprises him in this state. He nods somewhere in the general vicinity of Castiel’s shirt. “Take it off.”
The angel is already reaching for the hem of his sweater before Dean can add a period to that sentence. It could be that he goes slower than is absolutely necessary, taking his time to pull the shirt over his head and discard it somewhere on the floor, but Dean’s fingers curl tighter around the headboard when he sees the pale wiry tautness of Castiel right there in front of him, the unmistakable bulge in his jeans, close enough to… right.
“More,” he barks, maybe compensating for the lack of touch just a bit.
Rising up fully onto his knees, so that Dean can see every curve and ridge behind what must be zero fucking percent body fat, Castiel lets his hands linger slightly on his belt buckle before unthreading the tongue and popping the button on his jeans. Dean, though watching his fingers and the flesh exposed in their wake, can feel Cas’s eyes boring into his skull. When finally Cas has drawn the zipper all the way down and Dean can almost-not-quite see where the trail of dark hair leads, he snaps his eyes up to meet Castiel’s gaze. They’re both smiling like they’ve outsmarted the other somehow, but Dean really has another thing coming if he thinks Cas doesn’t have the upper hand here. That doesn‘t leave him with much, but it does give him an idea of what to say next.
“I’d like you to take your cock out and work yourself for me,” he instructs. “I can talk you through it if you’re short on ideas,” he adds. Because not only would that be hot, but it occurs to Dean that maybe Cas hasn’t done a whole lot of this before.
The thought gets shut down fast as Cas pushes his jeans down below his ass and takes his cock in hand, the pale skin of his fingers a beautiful contrast to the much darker, swollen skin. “I think I can manage,” he says, with the right amount of sneer that Dean knows where he learned it from, and just enough sauciness that Dean starts to feel far, far too constricted in his own jeans. More so when Cas’s mouth gentles dramatically as he makes the first, slow upstroke, thumb braced against the head of his dick.
It’s not like Dean has never watched someone masturbate before, but he’s transfixed by the sight of Castiel’s heavy cock sliding in and out of his hand, already slick with pre-come that Cas gathers and spreads on his fingers, up and down the length of him and over his balls. Dean seems to feel his own arousal pulsing in time with Cas’s hand. They are both making noises enough to deepen Dean’s flush, heat pumping through him, but for some reason the only thing Dean can actually think of to say is, “Jeasus Christ, Cas. Had I known what you were packin’, I would never have questioned why you wanted to hang on to this body,” because that is one seriously blessed piece of equipment right there, if Dean can say so himself. The response is somewhere between a laugh and a groan, cut short by Castiel’s teeth biting down on his own lip.
“That’s it, baby,” Dean urges, fingers twisting around the headboard, pelvis arcing up to meet the subtle bounce of Castiel’s hips as he jacks himself off, rhythm becoming ever so uneven as his hand tightens, speeds up. His face is hot and sweating like he’s the one doing the work. “C’mon.”
“I want to touch you,” Castiel moans, head thrown back and somehow still looking at Dean at the same time. His voice is raw and needy and absolutely the sexiest Dean has ever heard it. It’s a struggle not to come in his pants from that alone, but he kind of likes Castiel’s idea better.
“Go for it,” Dean hisses, lifting his hips only just quickly enough to meet the free hand that Cas throws out to undo his belt and button fly with impressive speed. Together they manage to get his jeans and boxers down to his knees with an awkward combination of pushing and wiggling.
Sure enough, Dean nearly comes at the first touch of Castiel’s hand, which he moistens with saliva from Dean’s own mouth, but Cas smartly grabs his cock at the very base and squeezes, enough to keep things under control. Dean wants to ask where the fuck this bag of tricks has come from, since he’s almost pretty sure that Cas hasn’t spent the past several millennia honing his skills in all-male bathhouses, but he’s distracted by Cas endeavouring to slide up his body without releasing his hand from Dean’s cock, by now probably a ripe shade of purple. He’s let go of his own penis long enough to urge Dean further up the bed, and suddenly he’s there at Dean’s mouth, straddling his chest with something very specific and very obvious in mind.
“You suck at following instructions,” Dean tells him, even as the weeping head of Castiel’s erection brushes over his lower lip. His tongue, as if by reflex, emerges to taste the pre-come left behind and tease at the slit.
“You can educate me later,” Cas suggests, breath hitching, and yeah, Dean can get on board with that. His fingers stroke Dean’s jaw and lift his chin as he nudges the tip of his cock past Dean’s lips, while his other hand finally, finally, finally loosens, and Cas begins to move his fist up and down in time with Dean’s sucking.
Dean hasn’t given a blowjob in quite a while, but once the general principles are down it’s about as easy as falling off a bike, especially with Cas feeding it to him so helpfully. Contrary to most people’s opinion of him, Dean actually doesn’t like to be on the receiving end all the time. As a matter of fact, he thinks, as he hollows his cheeks around Cas’s cock and flickers his tongue along the underside, he much prefers being the one giving the pleasure. With women it’s always a challenge to get it exactly right, and subsequently that much more satisfying when their orgasm leaves them a quivering mess; but in some ways Dean almost likes sucking guys off more, not because he likes the equipment any better, but because he knows exactly how it feels when a lick or slight nip of teeth leaves the recipient gasping for air. It is so much more interactive, which is the effect Dean thinks Cas is going for as he mirrors the strokes of his hand to those of Dean’s mouth, drawing firecracker circles around the tip of Dean’s cock with his thumb, as Dean swirls his tongue around the head of Castiel’s, fist descending tight and slow to the bottom when Dean swallows his cock as deep as possible. Dean can feel both their legs shaking with effort.
When Dean opens his eyes to look up at Cas, disengaging his mouth just enough to slide and kiss way down to the soft weight of Castiel’s balls, the angel is drinking in his every move, exultant. Although bent and twisted somewhat awkwardly between letting Dean suck him off and reaching behind himself to work Dean’s cock, he moves easily, flexibly, and betrays no sign of discomfort, just the screaming arousal that has darkened his eyes and lips and made his every breath a gasp. Dean is getting very close himself, trying not to wildly buck his hips into Cas’s grip, but a subtle nod from the angel and his name, muttered, let Dean know that they’re almost at the same point.
Castiel’s hand leaves his hair to guide his cock back between Dean’s lips, his thumb sliding into his mouth alongside the shaft. Dean takes them both eagerly, unable to stop himself from moaning out loud when he hears Castiel say his name again, voice at a shout, hips picking up a gentle thrusting rhythm. His jaw is growing so very tired from accommodating Cas’s girth, but before he can mentally congratulate himself he remembers this isn’t really happening, at least not in the physical sense.
The moment Cas’s hand leaves his cock to fondle his balls, one long finger sliding lower to press against his entrance, Dean’s control snaps. He releases his grip on the headboard to clutch at Castiel’s ass, pushing him forward and deeper into his mouth, relaxing his throat to take him all in until the musky hair at the base of his shaft brushes his nose. Cas’s distracted chastisement reaches his ears as though from underwater, and Dean feels the finger push in to the second knuckle in retaliation, slippery with pre-come. At that, Dean could swallow his tongue if it weren’t still hard at work.
Ignoring the sound of protest, Dean uses a freed hand to fist his own cock while Castiel slowly begins to finger-fuck him, a second finger joining the first, and he braces his feet flat on the bed for leverage and to give Cas more room. This is difficult with his jeans still caught around his knees, but does the job well enough. With Castiel’s fingers gliding relentlessly in and out, bumping just so perfectly against his prostate, Dean’s orgasm slams through him with the force of a truck-and Dean would know. At first he is too caught off guard to do more than go rigid, but as the waves continue to break over him and the world goes a bit ass-over-tits, Dean catches himself emitting a sharp, drawn-out moan around Castiel’s cock.
Whether from the vibration of Dean’s throat around the head of his cock or the feel of Dean clenching around his hand, Castiel lets out a broken sob and crashes, hard. Alongside the spurts of come down his throat, so deep Dean can’t even taste it, Cas tugs madly at his hair as though in danger of blowing away. He mumbles Dean’s name over and over, a ravaged, raspy mantra, breath eventually hitching when Dean slides his lips back and begins to suck him clean. Dean is attentive and careful with his tongue, trying to catch every last bit of fluid before he lets Castiel slump away in a fit of oversensitivity. It’s a fresh, slightly mineral tang that again reminds Dean of snow; he doesn’t feel at all guilty about pulling Castiel in for a kiss to share the taste, nor does Cas seem to mind, slipping down Dean’s body until they are pressed together from shoulder to toe.
Now, apparently, more willing to relinquish his position of control, Cas allows himself to be rolled onto his back and divested of his jeans, shoes and socks, before Dean kicks his own legs free of his denim. Naked and loving the feel of Cas’s unencumbered skin against his own-still awed by it, really, even though they are both covered in sweat and semen-he brings their mouths back together for a kiss that is caught somewhere between sweet and possessive, like he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. After such a thorough application to Cas’s dick, Dean’s tongue feels overstimulated and tender, but nevertheless he enjoys its gentle slide against Castiel’s, the slow, wet, almost-chasteness of making out after orgasm has left him on the verge of passing out. Dean fights his body’s instinct to fall into drooling, unshakable sleep, because he hasn’t had his fill of Castiel yet and technically he’s already asleep, damn it.
The contentment he feels when Cas sucks gently at the pulsepoint in his neck is so potent that Dean could purr like a freaking milk-drunk kitten. It scares him, how good and right it seems. “Just do that forever,” he instructs lazily. “Just that, there.”
“I’m sure other areas would start to feel neglected after a while, if I did,” Cas points out, with a smile Dean can feel against his throat. “To say nothing of how I’d feel.”
“A touch greedy, are we?” laughs Dean. Playfully he wrestles Castiel’s wrists to the mattress, pinned above his head in a rather delicious echo of their earlier position. The memory-if you can call ten minutes ago a memory-is so welcome that Dean feels his cock give a well-meaning twitch. He hopes Cas realizes how willingly he’d give anything, anything at all that he wanted, for a chance to do more of this, to reach out and touch instead of confining himself to wondering how it could be. He now knows, and god damn does he want everything Cas has to give, even if he has to stay asleep forever to get it. He’s fucked it up so badly in real life, it’s painful to think about; to think he used to dream about finding happiness with Lisa when Cas was in front of him all along.
“It’s both our faults,” Cas whispers, and Dean can’t tell if it’s reverence or sadness in his voice. He lets Cas’s wrists go so they can travel to Dean’s face, his touch so tender compared to earlier. “I would be glad also, to stay here.”
Part Eight